


When Destiny Calls

by Bethynyc



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sandman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethynyc/pseuds/Bethynyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death isn't always the end. Sometimes you get sequels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Destiny Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Many thanks to the lovely and talented malinaldarose for her beta!  
> Author's Note: Written for the Spike round of maleslashminis, for warpedminded, who asked for Hawaiian shirts, chipped Spike and a vibrating plug and didn't want character death or cross-dressing. Unfortunately, both characters are already dead, but we know how flexible those things can be in the Buffyverse! Hope you like it! Brief cameos by two of Neil Gaiman's Endless.

Pain, worse than any other exploded through Doyle's body. Grimly, he held on long enough to save the day, then felt his body dissolve into ash.

All was dark and quiet. This was good, as far as Doyle was concerned, though not exactly what he expected his afterlife to involve. He had hoped for a good old-fashioned bar where they served really good food and he never had to pay for drinks.

 _::You have done well::_

“What?” Doyle looked around, but all he could see was himself—wearing his favorite shirt and jeans—in a featureless, blank space. “Who is that?”

 _::You may refer to me as...Destiny::_

“Oh. All right. Wait, no, it's not! I'm dead, right?”

 _::Your former corporeal form is extinguished.::_

Doyle crossed his arms. “Well then, where's my reward? Where's my beautiful green fields with blue skies and puffy white clouds?”

A tall man in a brown hooded robe, carrying a book, coalesced in front of him. _::You are needed. You have set one Champion upon his path. There is another.::_

“What am I, your Champion trainer or something?”

 _::This is a special case.::_

Doyle sat down in the nothingness. “No.”

 _::No?::_

Shaking his head, Doyle planted himself firmly in the...nothing. “I'm dead. I'm done, I tell you. Done!”

The hooded figure raised his head, and though Doyle couldn't see his eyes, he sensed that he was communicating with someone. Finally, Destiny turned to Doyle. _::I have called my sister. She will be able to explain.::_ He gestured, and Doyle turned around.

A park bench, where there was nothing before. Seated on the park bench was a young woman with ancient eyes. She wore black jeans, a black tank top, and a necklace with a silver ankh on it. She smiled, and he returned her smile. Something about her soothed Doyle, and he sat next to her, only barely noticing that the hooded figure had disappeared.

She smiled and patted him on his knee. “You see, it's like this...”

~*~*~*~

Spike settled into the chair in his new crypt and took a swig of beer. Passions had just finished, and now he was stuck with nothing else to do until sunset, when he could finally go out and beat up some demons.

A tiny sound, a pop of displaced air, reached his ears. Instantly, he snapped into game face and pounced on the short man who just appeared in the corner of his crypt. Just as Spike was about to pummel the intruder, the man doubled over, keening in pain.

“Oh, come on! I haven't even hit you yet!” Spike complained. He took a closer look at his unwelcome visitor. Something about the brightly printed shirt jogged his memory. “Oi! I know you. You're that guy with Angel and Cordelia!”

“Doyle. The name's Doyle.” He rubbed his head. “If I knew comin' back would be so painful...”

“Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say...” Obviously, this Doyle character was no threat. “Don't let the door hit you on your way out.” Spike returned to his chair and his bottle. Which was empty. “Buggerit,” he muttered and stood up again to get another beer from the mini-fridge.

Doyle was still standing in the corner, a confused expression on his face.

“What are you still doing here? Get out, before I kill you.” Spike said, though without heat. “I can, you know. Can smell the demon in you.”

“Spike?”

“Yeah, that's me. And you're Angel's boy, Doyle. Get on back to him, won't you?” Spike took the second to last beer out of the fridge and opened it.

Doyle still wasn't moving. “Jaysus.” He stared at Spike, who sneered back at him. “Could I get one o' those?”

“What, a beer?”

“Yeah. Could really use one right 'bout now.”

Spike frowned. “No. You pop in here, into my place, and just demand beer? I've only got the one left after this, and they have to last me until sundown. So no.” He popped the cap off the beer and took a long swig. “Why aren't you in LA, helping the hopeless, or whatever his Broodiness does?”

Doyle paced a bit. “Um, I died.”

“You died,” Spike said. He strode over to Doyle and poked him in the shoulder, ignoring his protests. “Don't feel like a ghost.”

“Temporary body. See, I'm supposed to find a Champion and...yeah. Only, I don't know who it is.” Doyle ran his hands through his hair. “So, ya see, I could really use that beer right about now.”

Spike shook his head and smiled in amusement. “You don't need a beer, mate, you need something much better.” He walked over to a box in the corner. “Well, come on!”

Hesitantly, Doyle followed, accepting items as Spike handed them to him. One, two, three Hawaiian shirts in vibrant colors, two knives, a stake, and...

“What the hell is this?” It was plastic, electric blue, and somewhat cone-shaped. Suddenly it began to vibrate in Doyle's hands.

Spike looked at it. “Oh. You...might want to not touch that...too much.”

“It isn't...”

“It is.”

Doyle dropped the vibrating plug, along with everything else from the box. “That's truly disgustin'!”

Spike grinned. “It's all stuff I stole from Harris to cover up for abducting this beauty from the Watcher.” He held up a bottle. “I think you, as an Irishman, will appreciate this.”

Doyle reverently accepted the bottle. “Bushmills 16 year single malt. You _must_ be a Champion.”

A short laugh escaped from Spike. “Hardly. Might not be able to hurt humans, but I'm still evil.”

Doyle ignored him in favor of carefully breaking the seal and opening the bottle. “Ohhh, Bushmills. Proof that God was an Irishman.” He took a long swig and handed the bottle to Spike.

~*~*~*~

Halfway through the bottle Doyle was telling Spike all about the strange experience after his death. “Just, one minute I can feel my bones melting from the heat, an' the next I'm in this...place. An' this guy with a robe an' a book and this Goth chick tell me I've got one last job to do.” Spike handed him the bottle and Doyle drank morosely. “And I have no clue how to do it.”

They were sprawled on a blanket on the floor, courtesy of Rupert Giles, though he didn't know it. A couple of pillows from Buffy and Willow's dorm room provided something for them to lean on. “Fuck 'em!” said Spike. “Screw destiny, screw purpose. Just...get drunk.”

“A-men.” Doyle toasted the words and took another drink before returning the bottle to Spike. A drunken grin spread across his face. “God. Forgotten what the good stuff does to me.”

“You too?” Spike looked over at Doyle and considered his next steps. The man was slim and compact, with muscles honed by working and running, not the gym. Sex with Doyle would be fun.

Besides, it would drive Angel crazy.

Doyle looked at him. Spike smirked and made an obvious show of checking him out. “You wanna?”

Doyle appeared to be considering. Finally, he reached over, took the bottle from Spike and set it a safe distance away from the blanket. “The last thing we want to do is spill the whiskey.”

“Man after my own heart.” Spike leaned forward and kissed him.

Doyle tasted of whiskey and sadness, of lost opportunity and smoke. Spike let his fingers drift to the buttons of the shirt and undid them carefully, as Doyle slipped his hands underneath Spike's black t-shirt and caressed the skin at the small of his back.

Soon they were naked, with the help of vampiric speed and drunken fumbling. “Damn.” said Spike.

“What?”

“Forgot to nick lube from Harris and his insatiable girlfriend.”

Doyle smiled at him softly. “We can always just do this...” He rolled on top of Spike and ground his hips against him.

Spike pulled his face down for a kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

They thrust against each other, Spike digging his fingers into Doyle's shoulders, planting his feet for more leverage. They kissed wildly as their cocks slid next to each other. Friction gave way to a slight slickness as leaking fluid covered their bellies. Spike could feel Doyle getting close, and suddenly the face above him was demonic as Doyle tensed and groaned into his orgasm. The sudden gush sent Spike over the edge, and he felt his own face change into the demon.

Doyle rolled off him, panting. “That was...wow.”

Spike looked down at his belly. “And messy.”

That made Doyle laugh. “Oh, god. Been too long, you know?”

“Yeah. Plus, you were dead.” Spike grabbed one of the discarded shirts and mopped up his belly before offering it to Doyle. “Think you'll be up for another round a little later?”

Doyle shook his head. “I really do have to find that Champion. Just wish I could remember what I had to tell him.”

“Buffy's the only Champion hereabouts.” Spike leaned back as he watched Doyle stand and dress. “Unless you want to count the soldier boys, which I don't.”

Doyle leaned against the crypt to put his socks on. “She said it would be the first person I saw. But that doesn't make any sense, because that was you.” His eyes widened. “Oh.”

Spike sat up. “What?”

“Nothing. I just remembered what she told me.” Doyle finished dressing and knelt down on the blanket to kiss the very naked Spike, who returned it enthusiastically. “Thank you. For the whiskey and the sex.”

Spike pulled Doyle closer. “You're welcome.”

“Spike.” Doyle said. “You're more than the demon. You're more than the chip. You're a man too. An' a man can make choices.” With that, he disentangled Spike's fingers from his shirt and stepped back, looking up. “I'm ready.”

With that, he vanished.

Spike looked at the spot where Doyle had been. He looked at the bottle of Bushmills, then at the mess around his crypt. He shook his head and smirked. “Me, a Champion. Riiiiight.”


End file.
